


Kairos

by mochimoon



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Suicide Attempt, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochimoon/pseuds/mochimoon
Summary: Peter’s brows pinch together. The conversation is familiar—repetitive. Not in the vain that May has in the past come home later from work, but that they’ve had this exact exchange yesterday morning, muffins and all.He swallows, careful of what to say next. “Pizza?” It’s the same thing he said yesterday, but he watches Aunt May’s expression light up.He predicts her next words with clarity.“Can’t take the New York out of the boy,” she says, ruffling his hair like Peter expects.....À la "Groundhog Day", Peter is stuck in a time-loop.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 146





	Kairos

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure which version of Spider-Man this would fall under. I sort of combined various editions of these characters from MCU-verse to Ultimate-verse to 616-verse. Feel free to interpret them as you see fit. Trigger warning for mentions of suicide and suicidal attempts.

Peter’s hand waves at the air, fingers reaching but pressing nothing. He groans, wincing at the blaring noise of his alarm clock. It stops the moment his hand finds the thing, and with a huff he peels the covers off.

The whole apartment smells of muffins and coffee. Peter spots Aunt May, stretching past her by the counter to grab three muffins. His back throbs. Peter pauses, a muffin inches from his mouth.

He should have healed yesterday. The injury was from a day ago. Peter muses and flexes his back again with purchase. He’s still stiff and achy; that doesn’t seem right.

“Sweetie, you okay?”

Peter blinks unaware that Aunt May was watching him. “Mhm. Just stretching.” He rolls his shoulders to convince her and sure enough he feels it again.

He bites into the muffin. “Are these leftover from yesterday?”

Aunt May raises a brow. “No, I made them this morning.”

Peter continues to chew. The warm blueberries fill his mouth just like it did the previous morning. “Well, they’re just as good as the other day.”

Aunt May smiles. “The other day. It’s been what, forever since the last time I made muffins.”

“If yesterday is forever, then yeah.”

“Have you gotten enough sleep? Are you still tired?”

“Hm?”

Aunt May shakes her head and pours herself some coffee. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve swapped shifts, so I’ll be home a little past dinner tonight. Want me to pick up some take-out before I get home?”

Peter’s brows pinch together. The conversation is familiar—repetitive. Not in the vain that May has in the past come home later from work, but that they’ve had this exact exchange yesterday morning, muffins and all.

He swallows, careful of what to say next. “Pizza?” It’s the same thing he said yesterday, but he watches Aunt May’s expression light up.

He predicts her next words with clarity.

“Can’t take the New York out of the boy,” she says, ruffling his hair like Peter expects.

* * *

Peter checks his phone when he steps off the train; it’s delayed—again. Ned texts him about a conversation they were having the day before at school. Peter scrolls at the catalog of past messages and finds no repeats, though he’s convinced he’s already read the new ones.

The weather is the same, blue skies, blotted with white clouds. Flash honks his horn at him, jeering, but that’s a normal occurrence that Peter ignores it. Peter’s distracted like always during his first two classes. So the lectures don’t make any impression on him, whether they are the same or not.

By 10AM, Peter rushes to Spanish and his teacher gives him a look.

“Mr. Parker, what are you doing here?”

Peter stops in his tracks on his way to his seat, and raises a brow when he sees someone else occupy it. “I’m—” He checks the clock.

“It’s Wednesday,” comes her response.

The bell rings and more students fill the seats; faces that Peter doesn’t normally see during his Spanish lesson. They’re all seniors.

Peter leaves, muttering an apology past his shoulder. Wednesday means he has a free track but that was yesterday. Today is—

Wednesday. The calendar on his phone confirms the date, one that Peter has already lived. He darts for the bathroom, checks to see that he’s alone and removes his shirt.

The purple bruise stretches from his upper back to below his armpit. It’s the mark of where he landed after his web-shooter jammed. That happened over twenty-fours ago. His healing should have cleared this up.

He’s repeating a day. Or he’s dreaming. He pinches himself in the arm and the sharp pain tells him it’s the former. He needs to understand how it’s even possible, and more importantly why?

His phone buzzes and the message pricks his memory. It’s Tony Stark asking if he’s still coming over during his free track.

Peter sighs. He can help, or the other Avengers could. He taps out a ‘yes’, pulls his shirt back, and leaves the school grounds.

* * *

“Hey Pete, let me look at those web-shooters,” Tony says when Peter enters the lab.

“How did you know about them?”

Tony snorts. “You shot me a text late last night, said you were having problems with web buildup.”

“You got that _last_ night?” Peter says.

“Uh-huh…and it’s a good thing I was still awake. I told you to drop by when you get a chance and you said you had a free track.”

“Oh…right, forgot.”

Tony takes apart the panel of the shooters while Peter lurks nearby. He and Tony jabber on about the engineering and shoot ideas for new, upgraded versions of webbing. Tony clears the jam and Peter tests it out: web shoots out with ease.

“Tony, do you think time travel can happen?”

“According to Stephen Hawking, it’s possible. But personally, I don’t think there’s a way to actually travel through time, at least not by any engineering means.”

“Then how?”

Tony chuckles. “Can’t believe I’m saying this, but magic. Or something else. I never would’ve believed it but after meeting Thor, well anything’s possible."

“How would I know if I traveled back in time?”

Tony makes a guess. “You’d experience the same things that already happened?”

Peter follows Tony out of the lab and onto the main suite.

“Hungry?” Tony says.

“Almost always,” Peter says, his response is half-hearted.

Tony checks his watch. “It’s almost lunchtime anyways. You don’t have to rush back to school yet. I was thinking—”

“Greek,” Peter supplies, though his eyes are unfocused. “We just had that.”

A line forms between Tony’s brows. “We? Meaning you and someone else? And how did you know I was going to say that?”

“No, _we_ as in you, me, and the Avengers. Yesterday.”

Tony rubs his chin, looking even more confused. “Did we? Were you even here yesterday?”

“Spider-Man? No, he wasn’t.” Steve arrives on the main floor, dressed down. “How’re you doing, Peter?”

Peter shrugs.

“We’re working on lunch,” Tony says, grabbing his phone. “But kid says we had Greek yesterday.”

Steve hums. “Hmm, Sam made lunch, BLTs.”

“On Tuesday maybe,” Peter says. “On Wednesday we had Greek.”

“Kid, Wednesday’s today. Did you hit your head? Any concussions you’d like to share with us?”

Peter rolls his shoulder and earns a concerned look from Steve.

“Are you hurt?”

Peter waves him off. “It’s fine, but it should have healed already.”

“Okay, I’m going to make an order, what are we having?”

“I thought you wanted Greek?” Steve says.

He and Tony turn to Peter, waiting.

“Make it Thai."

Tony rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just said that’s what you wanted. I thought you liked Greek though.”

“Not two days in a row.”

Tony sets his phone down. “Peter, I’m serious about the head injury.” He looks at Steve. “Is this a test? I went to bed at five but I’m sure I had enough winks to know what we had for lunch yesterday. Then again, I hardly remember what I had for breakfast today.”

Steve shakes his head. “Tony, relax.”

“JARVIS, what did I have for lunch yesterday?”

“ _BLT sandwich, sir, courtesy of Sam Wilson. You had it with two shots of espresso_.”

“Ha! Can’t fool me, Spider-Man, I’m a genius remember? Gas lighting means no Thai. We're having Greek.”

Peter ignores Tony. He’s the only one aware then. No one else appears to know that they’re reliving the same day, and it makes Peter question himself.

“I’m going insane.”

“Who is?” Natasha walks in, a towel draped around her neck.

Tony points at Peter. “Spider-Kid is trying gas light me.”

Natasha looks at Peter with a smirk. “Oh?”

Peter shakes his head. “Forget it.”

Steve claps a hand on Peter’s shoulder and the boy flinches. Without asking, Steve tugs Peter’s collar and is met with purple.

“Would you like some ice?”

“No thanks. It’ll heal.”

“You said it should have healed by now,” Steve says. “Maybe you were hurt harder than you thought. We can have Bruce check.”

“I’ll heal,” Peter says again by rote. “Anyways I’m starving.”

He stops at one serving—his bottomless appetite full of stone.

* * *

Peter returns to Midtown and the day passes on repeat. Ned talks to him about finding a Harry Potter-themed CLUE game at a garage sale and invites him over later in the week to play it. Mary Jane teases him when he forgets to bring his camera because Journalism doesn’t meet on Thursdays but they do on Wednesdays.

And then he remembers Harry’s not here. Harry’s been gone since Monday after, after everything that happened. And Peter is wrecked with guilt once more.

When school lets out, Peter disappears into the city, casual clothes shed and swinging with ease. His memory serves him well, and he uses it to his advantage. He scopes out a mugger on 16th street, webbing him to the wall before he gets a chance to corner an innocent businessman.

He picks up a dog as its eyes follow a squirrel onto oncoming traffic. He saves the dog and squirrel.

He’s a step ahead today because he already knows what’ll happen. The rest of the afternoon is quiet thanks to him. Because he had muffins and Greek twice in a row, Peter decides to skip the hot dog stand and pay for street tacos.

He savors the change, but his mind detours back to Harry. He didn’t see him the other day. He wants to make a difference this time.

He heads for the private rehabilitation center where Harry is. Peter knows he’ll be turned away, and biting down his guilt, he sneaks in.

It’s a nice place, hardly looking like any sort of treatment center. The Osborns would only accept the best.

Peter finds his room eventually and stops. It’s wrong, he thinks. Harry doesn’t want to see him. But he can’t help but feel like Harry’s alone, scared, forgotten even.

He knocks and he hears Harry answer.

“Come in.”

Peter steels himself, cracking the door open. With a resigned breath, he enters, shutting the door.

“H—Hi, Harry.” His voice is small as he takes in the look on Harry’s face.

The teen’s face drains of color and Peter worries he should leave.

“What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see how you are doing,” Peter says, taking a tentative step forward.

Harry’s jaw clenches, his mouth twisting. “You need to leave. You’re not allowed here.”

“Harry, I…I’m sorry. I wanted to see you, to check on you.”

“No! You don’t have a right to be here. You have no right to see me! Especially now that my dad is gone.”

“You’re my friend. I wrote you.”

“Yeah and I threw them out the window,” Harry spits. “It’s your fault. He got obsessed with you and your buddy Spider-Man that he had zero time to take care of himself. And now I’m here because I didn’t want to be around anymore but you— got in the way of that too!”

Peter’s heart seizes. “I don’t regret stopping you.” He didn’t. He only wishes he was there to talk him out of it before Harry even considered taking his life.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like? My dad loved you. He called you my brother once. You made me feel like I was impossible to love!”

Peter motions forward, but Harry shoves him back hard.

“No! Go away! Stay away from me! I mean it!”

The door swings open.

“Mr. Osborn? Who’s this?”

Peter leaves, apologies spilling from his mouth. He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the nearest station. The train ride back to Queens does nothing to clear his head.

May is home, still in her work clothes, a pizza box balanced in her hands.

“Peter?”

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter says, head lowered. He doesn’t tell her about Harry, or about repeating the day. He listens to her talk about work, watches her sprinkle crushed peppers on her slice of pizza, watches a movie, like clockwork.

He goes to his room early, desperate for it all to end.

* * *

He hits snooze on his alarm when it goes off. He stretches and sniffs. His muscles are sore as they were the previous morning and blueberry muffins fill his nose. Peter shudders.

Peter’s day is on repeat. He snags the muffins, takes his train, and goes to school. He doesn’t wander into Spanish by mistake again and this time heads straight for the Avengers compound.

Tony talks a mile a minute, assessing what is wrong with the shooters. Peter doesn’t interrupt and lets him fix it even though he knows what to do now to clear the jam.

They have Greek again and Peter forces himself to eat enough to sate his enhanced appetite.

The rest continues on replay.

But, he doesn’t visit Harry.

The night ends the same as it does the first time, he and May watch a movie before they turn in.

* * *

The next four “days” it’s the same.

It’s always a sunny day with a few clouds in the sky. Breakfast consists of muffins and coffee. Peter has Greek at the compound, stops the same bad guys from the same petty crimes. He has pizza with Aunt May for dinner, watches a movie with her and goes to sleep.

Each time he hasn’t seen Harry. Each time it’s all the same. Each time it’s reset to Wednesday.

The fifth time it happens, Peter skips school. He feigns his usual routine in the morning and leaves. When May is out the door, Peter sneaks back in through his bedroom window.

His phone buzzes with messages from Ned, Mary Jane, and Tony. He replies with half-assed excuses and spends the morning as Spider-Man. He catches a bike thief, talks to a homeless man, rides atop the trains, and then goes home for lunch.

He watches the news and is there to stop a car chase—his first one. The car thieves curse at him and the police usher them away. On his way back to Queens, he takes a few pictures with some tourists, blushing beneath the mask.

He greets May at the door, taking the pizza box from her arms and plants a kiss on her cheek, surprising her.

“You’ve been in a good mood since this morning,” she notes. “Any special reason?”

Peter laughs, taking a bite. “Things are going my way, I guess.”

Peter skips school again, devoting his time to Spider-Man. He stops the same crimes but there’s a different feeling swinging around as Spider-Man in the morning. It boosts his adrenaline and he’s eager to find something, anything to do.

He winds up in Upper Manhattan, and the thought of Harry flickers in his brain. He doesn’t know how, but he’s in the neighborhood where the Osborns’ estate is.

Peter looks up and shakes the image of Harry toeing the edge. He swings away.

* * *

“ _Welcome, Spider-Man_.”

Peter pulls his mask off, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, J.”

Tony is in the main suite, talking to Steve, and perks when he sees Peter enter.

“Peter, decided to show up after all,” Tony says with a smile. “How’re the shooters?”

“Right as rain.” He’s fixed them up before he left in the morning. “Jams cleared and I’ve been testing them out all morning.”

Steve balks at Peter. “You weren’t at school?”

“Don’t be such a wet blanket, Cap. It’s healthy for kids to play hooky every once in a while.”

Steve puts his hands up. “I’m not judging. Peter knows how to prioritize.”

Peter gives him a salute. “So…I’m starved.”

“You drop by only for lunch, I’m hurt.” Tony feigns being affronted.

“The only reason I ever come,” Peter teases.

“Greek?”

“Chinese.”

* * *

The next two times it happens again, Peter strives to change everything he can. He wakes up earlier than May, attempting to make pancakes. This is how she wakes up at six in the morning, smelling burnt batter and rock hard flapjacks. Despite his efforts at breakfast, they eat toast. No muffins.

He continues to miss school, and though he can’t get in actual trouble for it, he feels guilty. He hasn’t seen Ned in a day, but in reality it’s been longer than that.

“ _Can I come over tonight?_ ”

Ned’s response is instantaneous. “ _Dude! Yeah you can. We can play CLUE. Why aren’t you in school today?_ ”

“ _Tell you tonight._ ”

And Peter does.

Ned is in disbelief. It’s hard to be convinced when Peter seems so nonchalant about the whole thing. Ned responds the way Peter did the first time it happened.

“How many days has it been?”

Peter thinks for a moment. He’s not sure himself, and it’s not like he can tally the day down. “Two weeks, I think.”

“That’s really weird. Time paradoxes are hard to trace, let alone occur. Have you thought about how to break the loop?”

“Been living each day differently. But…it’s still Wednesday.”

Ned bites his lip, looking at Peter with sympathy. Peter doesn’t like it when Ned looks at him that way. Peter’s shoulders tense and the bruise flares. He checked in the bathroom, it’s yellow now but will be purple again when he wakes up.

Silence stretches, making Peter fidgety. “What is it?”

Ned flounders, at a loss. “It’s just…it sounds…miserable. Reliving the same day.”

Peter’s face sours. “It…yeah. It sucks.”

“There’s gotta be a way to break the loop.”

An idea clicks in Peter’s head. “I won’t go to sleep.”

“How will that help?”

“Every day starts with me waking up. If I go to sleep then that means time is reset.”

It’s the best plan Peter can think of. He can witness every hour, from the stroke of midnight to the sunrise. If he makes it a whole twenty-four hours, he should be able to break the loop.

He and Ned play CLUE into the night. They have movies playing in the background, music thrumming lightly from an old iPod. Ned sneaks downstairs to the kitchen to bring up cups of coffee. He’ll make it up to his parents later.

Peter’s jittery and wired. His knees bounce while they play another round of the game, and he checks the clock with bated breath.

Each hour that passes is a small victory and closer and closer Peter feels like Thursday morning will happen. At midnight, Peter stifles his excitement when the calendar on his phone reads Thursday. It’s still not good enough. He’s spent the other nights on patrol and technically those nights were Thursday too. He needs to make it past dawn.

Ned’s reserve dwindles around 2AM. He’s nodding in and out. Peter doesn’t have the heart to force him awake, so he lets him sleep.

By 5AM, the Leeds are bone dry of coffee grounds, and Peter is still awake. His eyes are red and tired and his bruise is gone. Dawn won’t be for another hour and a half. He’s almost there—almost free.

He imagines what the next morning will be like. Aunt May will find him missing and will blow up his phone with calls and worried messages. He’ll be dead with exhaustion but it’ll be worth it.

The purple sky turns a shade of cinnabar and Peter exhales as the sun ascends, brightening the sky with the promise of a new day. He checks his phone and it’s Thursday. He hears Mr. Leeds pad down the stairs outside.

Peter made it. It’s Thursday, and with renewed hope, he passes out on Ned’s floor.

* * *

The alarm buzzes and Peter rolls to the side. “Ned…” he groans.

Minutes tick away and it continues to buzz. Peter rolls back, eyes peeling open looking for Ned to tell him to shut off the alarm. His movement strains his back.

Peter's eyes prick with tears. The buzzing continues, but is deafened by the realization that Ned is not here.

Peter blinks a couple of times, and yet he’s still in his room. He’s not where he was just thirty minutes ago. He’s supposed to be in Ned’s room, on his floor with his friend snoring nearby. He’s supposed to be in Ned’s house not in his and May’s apartment.

He presses snooze.

Aunt May comes in after knocking a few times.

“Honey, are you alright?” She crosses his room and places a hand on his forehead.

“I’m fine,” Peter intones.

“No, you’re not, Peter. What’s wrong?”

Peter gets up, shedding the covers. “Went to bed late last night. I’m up now.”

Aunt May sighs and Peter expects her to scold him. She smiles instead.

“Well, if you’re up for school, I made blueberry muffins. You still have time to catch your train. But…if not, you can stay home.”

Peter reads the suspicion in her eyes.

He forces himself to get out of bed, wills himself to carry on, even though time does not. With a sad smile, Peter says, “That’s what smells so good.”

He nearly crumbles when May doesn’t look convinced.

* * *

He stays in school during his free track, choosing to spend it in the library.

He stops by the YA fiction shelf and pulls out a book with vampires in it. Skimming the content, he comes across a passage in which a vampire laments life frozen in time. Their predicaments are different yet the same. Peter’s not a vampire and the vampire isn’t reliving the same day. But they’re both forced to live without moving forward—unchanging.

“Psst!”

Peter shoves the book back in the shelf, eyes darting around.

Mary Jane is at the end of the aisle, waving when Peter sees her.

“What were you reading?”

“Nothing,” Peter says.

Mary Jane walks over to him. “You bring your camera right?”

“Um, yeah, it’s in my locker.”

“Oh good. The drama department is going to need some pictures to promote the upcoming play. They meet at 3:15. Think you can make it?”

Peter nods and wrings his hands. Mary Jane looks at him, brow raised.

“What’re you up to now?”

“Um…” Peter tries to pull something from his brain.

Mary Jane doesn’t give him a chance. “Want to grab coffee? I have a free track too…” Her cheeks blush the same shade as her hair.

The blood rushes to Peter’s ears. “Su—sure.” There goes his plan to stay in school.

He and Mary Jane spend their free track at a local café a few blocks down.

“Thank you,” Mary Jane says as the barista sets down their drinks. “Ever since I tried this place, I’ve become a bit of coffee snob. Nowhere else can compete. At least not until I visit Boston.”

“You want to move there?”

“No, just visit. My older sister just moved out there, and I might get to see her this summer. She raves about the coffee culture there, says New York is bland. But she does miss the pizza.”

“I’ve never been anywhere else, but I doubt pizza would taste any better than New York.” Peter sips his coffee, facing scrunching up at the bitterness. Despite the all-nighter he pulled, Peter doesn’t like coffee much.

“Boston has an Italian neighborhood, who knows? But I think I’ll always prefer the stuff we have out here.”

“Are you in the play?” Peter says.

Mary Jane blushes. “No, I didn’t audition this time.”

“Why not? You’re a good actress.”

“Really?”

Peter clears his throat. “Y—yeah. You’re great in every show you’ve been in.” He’s not sure if it’s the coffee, but Peter’s heart is racing past endurance in his chest, it almost hurts.

“Thanks. I didn’t audition this time because I’ve been swamped with other things. Journalism, homework, and I’ve been working part-time as a tutor at the elementary school.”

“That’s why I haven’t seen you around the neighborhood lately.”

Mary Jane hums, nodding. Her green eyes are impish. “I still see you around.”

Peter knits his brows, taking another sip of coffee. “I don’t really go out much. I’m pretty boring.”

“I don’t think so.”

Mary Jane surprises Peter when he’s finished taking pictures. He wasn’t expecting her to be around but she catches him at his locker.

“How did it go?” she says.

“I’ve got some nice shots. Mr. Spalding likes the ones I showed him. I’ll email him tonight.”

Mary Jane smiles, still standing by and even follows him when he takes a few steps.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to catch up again. Glad to know the pictures turned out okay. See you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” And no, Peter’s not sure what he’ll do tomorrow. But he does want to spend it with her again.

The suit is in his backpack, but the itch to go on patrol isn’t present. Mary Jane is and he wants to be near her. She walks down the hallway, leaving Peter behind. Peter deliberates what he wants to do. If he wakes up again and it’s Wednesday, then no one will remember anything but him.

“Mary Jane,” he calls out.

She spins around.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

Her eyes light up. “When?”

“Right now.”

Ten o’clock rolls around; Mary Jane and Peter are walking side-by-side. They turn the corner and are in their neighborhood, walking towards the houses across from Peter’s apartment complex.

“Sorry, curfew,” Mary Jane says.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ve got one too. May doesn’t like when I’m out late. But thank you for tonight.”

“Any time.”

The date went well. Now that it’s over, however, Peter dreads the end just as much as the beginning.

“MJ?”

“Hm?”

“I like you. A lot. I have for a long time.”

Mary Jane smiles. “I like you too.”

"Is it…?” Peter leans in, hesitates. Mary Jane doesn’t pull away, doesn’t pull a face. He can hear her heartbeat in her lips. He can’t bring himself to move until Mary Jane tells him it’s okay.

Their lips connect, chaste and delicate. Peter pulls away, eyes wide and head spinning.

“See you tomorrow,” Mary Jane says and enters her home.

* * *

Tomorrow doesn’t happen.

The memories of his time with Mary Jane flood his head and it’s torture. She won’t remember it, because it didn’t happen. Ned doesn’t remember he and Peter staying up all night to break the time loop, but Peter does. Aunt May doesn’t remember that she already made muffins and Tony keeps ordering Greek whether Peter’s there or not.

And Harry still hates him.

Peter checks the pictures on his camera, the drama pictures nonexistent.

He skips school again. He doesn’t leave the apartment when he sneaks back in. Around lunchtime, Peter opens the drawer for a butter knife to make a sandwich.

His hand goes for the utility knife. The edge is sharp against his fingertips, his enhanced senses making him more sensitive.

He shouldn’t do this, but nothing he does makes a difference. The blade kisses Peter’s forearm, red stains marking his skin. Peter hisses and draws the knife away. The wound gushes red and the pain is intense. Against his better judgment, he does it again.

The cuts are gone when he wakes to the sound of the alarm. Neither sign of a scar, nor any evidence of what he did to himself. His forearm is pale and unmarred.

Nothing. Nothing he does frees him of this torture. He leaves the alarm clock unplugged but still wakes up to it in the morning.

He’s let himself free fall when his shooter jams, bracing himself from the impact. A bone breaks in his right leg and he cries out in agony in an alley at night until he passes out.

The next time he wakes, Peter can walk again.

He eggs on criminals, ignoring his spider-sense and allows them to hurt him.

Again he wakes with nothing but the same bruise on his back from Tuesday night.

He pushes people away, expecting them to be angry and to leave him. He tells Aunt May he wants to be left alone, tells Ned he doesn’t want to be friends. He puts himself in situations where he can be hurt physically or otherwise. Many “days” pass of his recklessness and Peter’s convinced it’s what he deserves.

The urge to shout and curse the world splits him apart. He stops by the Avengers compound during his late-night patrol, trembling.

Tony guides him to a seat, taking his hand and pinning it to his own chest. “Breathe, Peter. Good. Repeat.”

“I—I can’t— I can’t go on like this.” Peter’s voice breaks. “I just want to move on.”

“What is that you want to move on from?” Tony says quietly. “Talk to me. I’m here to help.”

“Today. I want it to be tomorrow, but it never comes. It’s the same day, every time.”

Tony is at a loss for words as he tries to grasp what Peter is saying. He worries that the kid might have been drugged or suffering from sort of hallucination.

“JARVIS, give me his blood toxicity levels.”

“ _He’s clean, sir_.”

“I’m _not_ crazy.” Peter sniffs. “Time keeps repeating. It’s been like this for almost two months. It’s always March 21st.”

A light turns on and Clint pads onto the main floor, bleary-eyed. “What’s going on?”

Tony raises a hand to quiet him, returning his attention to Peter. “You’re repeating a day? Like a time loop?”

“I’m trapped,” Peter says in answer. “I’ve skipped school, went out as Spider-Man for a whole day. I stayed up to watch the sunrise, I told a girl I liked her, we kissed. I—I hurt myself. Used a knife on my arm, fell from a roof, broke my leg. I saw Harry and apologized again. I wake up and it didn’t happen. It never happened any of it!”

Tony cuts a glance at Clint and the man disappears back down the hall.

“Peter, listen,” Tony says, grasping his shoulders. “There’s a reason for this. We’ll figure it out—”

Peter shakes his head as though it weighed like iron. “Won’t matter because you won’t remember this. Everything will be reset. Only I’ll remember.”

Bruce looks him over, hair tousled from sleep and clad in PJs. “Your back is healing, should be gone in a few more hours.”

Peter’s eyes are red and blank, silent.

“Tony says you hurt yourself.”

Tony cringes from Peter’s side.

“Yeah, it’s true.”

“Why?”

“I want it to end. I want to be free.”

“Why don’t you stay the rest of the night,” Bruce suggests.

“I’m going to call Reed. He might have an idea on how to break the time paradox.”

“Tony, are you sure that’s what’s happening?”

"It’s nuts, I’ll admit it.” Tony heaves a sigh, taking in the sight of Peter exhausted. “I believe him. And if I can help him, then I need to do something now.”

Tony contacts Reed Richards and he’s at the compound in record time. Tony explains the situation Peter’s in since Peter’s too exhausted to do it himself.

“Is there a chance to break it? And why does it affect him?”

“I’ve never experienced manipulations with time, Tony. But if there’s a way, it can’t be fixed overnight.”

“We have no other choice, Reed. The second he falls asleep, time is reset. We won’t remember any of this, but him. He needs our help.”

Reed looks as though he wants to argue. But one look at Peter, his heart aches. There’s no greater misery than being stuck in time.

“Peter, I’ll do my best. Promise me, you won’t hurt yourself again, and if time repeats itself come find me.”

* * *

Time does repeat itself, and Peter does not seek Reed.

During the period when he sat and listened as Tony and Reed brainstormed how to help him, Peter resigned himself to this life. He isn’t going to fight anymore.

He wakes up before the alarm, meeting May in the kitchen.

“Oh, good morning,” she says in surprise. “Blueberry muffins, how does that sound?”

Peter grabs a measuring cup and fills it with blueberries. “Mind if I help?”

Peter acts as though the day is new, no longer to humor him but to please others.

He participates in class, knowing the answers to every question because of the repetition. He says hi to Mary Jane at the beginning of their free track but leaves to visit the graveyard.

“Hey Uncle Ben.” He places a bouquet of tulips by the headstone.

He talks to the grave, tells jokes. “Aunt May misses you too. She’s smiling more now, but she still misses you.”

Peter continues to fill the silence, though he imagines his Uncle there, smiling at him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come here the other Wednesdays. I’ve been living the same day for two months now. I should’ve come here every time. I’m…sad. I never thought reliving a day would be so miserable. But it is.

“Harry hates me. It’s my fault. I should’ve stayed away, minded my own business. Now he’s alone. He doesn’t deserve that, no one does. Well, maybe me.”

Tears gather at the corners of Peter’s eyes.

“Repeating a day wouldn’t be so miserable if you were around for them. I’d trade anything to repeat just another day with you. But it’s my fault you’re gone. I’m sorry. I want you back. It should have been me. You should be here, not me.”

Peter forces himself to go back to school. He takes pictures for the drama department, talks to Mary Jane and swallows the urge to ask her out again. He doesn’t.

He and May have pizza and he falls asleep in the middle of the movie they’re watching.

He visits Ben’s grave every day now. He talks to him though the conversation is different, as are the flowers. He doesn’t have to repeat himself with Ben. The dead know everything.

He visits Harry again and he’s yelled at again. Peter lets Harry tell him off until his voice is hoarse and he’s breaking down.

“I never meant to take him away,” Peter says after a moment, when he’s sure Harry is finished. “If I could change that I would. You deserve better, Harry. I’m sorry.”

Harry blinks away the tears. Staring at Peter whose face is so sad drains him of the rest of his anger.

“It— it’s not your fault.”

“Harry…”

“It’s not. Peter, you’re always there for me. You’re the only one that visited you know? I was angry with you because my dad saw something in you that I wished he saw in me. He talked about you all the time. I told my therapist this. She said you never meant any harm. She’s right.”

For some reason Peter is not relieved. He thinks Harry’s anger is justifiable. He deserves his anger, not his forgiveness.

“Even after everything I said to you, you’re still here,” Harry chuckles. “I’ve been so lonely. When my mom died, all I had was him. I thought he saw me the same way. You understand me, though. You’ve suffered loss too.”

“Yeah, I have.”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” Harry’s voice is soft and…resigned, as if what he’s asking won’t be granted.

Peter spends the whole day with him, catching him up on school. It’s not the same as it used to be, but it’s progress in the way they interact. Aunt May texts him, wondering where he is, and Peter tells Harry that he needs to go.

Harry nods, looking forlorn. “Good seeing you again, Pete.”

Peter hedges. He hates to make promises he can’t keep, but it’s worth it when he sees the hope in Harry’s eyes. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Peter.”

* * *

Aunt May is in her PJs by the time Peter makes it for dinner. The pizza box is opened and the table is set.

“Hey, was worried you stood me up.”

“Never,” Peter says.

He tells her about visiting Harry and shyly mentions visiting Ben.

Aunt May breathes heavily, her eyes filling with tears. She blinks them away, but her glasses are getting misty.

“I bet he liked that,” she says. “I need to pay him a visit too.”

“We can go together.”

May smiles. “It’s a date.”

They move to the couch, ready for the movie. The opening credits play and Peter takes a deep breath.

“I want to tell you something.”

Aunt May turns to him, brows pulled together. She pauses the movie and waits.

“I’m the reason Uncle Ben is gone.”

Aunt May’s jaw falls to her lap. “Peter, why would you think that?”

Peter’s unable to meet her eyes. “Because, I ran off and he went after me. If I didn’t he’s be here still.”

"That’s not your fault. You weren’t the one who killed him.”

“But I could have stopped it from happening if I was there.”

“No, I would have lost you too. Ben wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Too tired and full of endless guilt, Peter confesses without preamble, “May, I’m…Spider-Man.”

There’s a hitch in May’s voice and the world stops spinning. She stares at him and sees a boy broken from the loss of his loved ones, anxious with insecurities, but a boy shining with a pure soul. Her son.

“Spider-Man…”

Peter wrings his hands, not daring to look up.

May gently takes his chin and turns him to face her. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t kill him.”

“Spider-Man is supposed to help people.”

“And you do. I’ve seen the news, Peter, and as reckless and dangerous as it is, you’re a hero. I’m proud of you. And I know in my heart, Ben is too.”

Peter shudders, his eyes pleading. May pulls him to her, holding onto him as his tears fall.

“I always suspected something. You’re terrible at lying. I can always tell. After everything you’ve been through I wanted you to come to me. I didn’t want to force you because I wanted you to heal at your own pace.”

Peter buries his head in her shoulder. “I should have come to you. I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry.”

May tightens her hold. “Apology accepted. And I’m not mad. Worried, hell yeah, but not angry.”

“You should be.”

May sighs, letting him pull away. “Okay a little. I know you inside out. I know that you won’t stop even if I begged. You’re so much like Ben, with the same heart of gold. And I know that despite how great you are, you don’t see it and think you deserve everyone’s disapproval.

“It’ll never happen with me, bud. I’ll always be on your side.”

Peter wilts, exhaling as if he’s held his breath forever. He lets May pull him in for another hug. He knows she won’t remember this in the morning. She’ll forget he’s Spider-Man even though he doesn’t want her to. Telling her was the best decision ever.

And with that reminder, Peter hangs on, clings to the moment, stamping it all to his memories.

Aunt May plays the movie with Peter’s head in her lap. Her fingers card through his hair and he savors the moment and promises that he’ll tell her again and again, no matter how many times he has to repeat the day.

Peter basks in this position. He knows the consequence of falling asleep, but he feels fulfilled somehow. There’s no escaping the day. With reluctance, he gets up and bids May a goodnight, entering his room and falling asleep.

* * *

The alarm buzzes and Peter sighs, shutting it off. Peter pulls on the same clothes (at least he never has to do laundry) and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

The sweater is half on him but Peter sees his back in the mirror, pale lacking any trace of purple. He stretches and feels no strain or pull.

The door is nearly yanked off its hinges. He slides to a stop in the kitchen and May turns around, holding a box of cereal.

“I overslept.” She looks apologetic. “Cereal’s on the menu today.”

“That’s—amazing!” Peter rushes over and hugs her close.

May laughs. “Easy Spider-Man, you’ll be late if you don’t hurry and eat.”

Peter freezes, pulling away and looks at May with wide eyes.

“May, did you just—?”

“We didn’t get to it last night, but I want to know the whole story later today. No more secrets.”

May still remembers. So he did tell her.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday,” May says. “Don’t change the subject. We’re going to have a long talk later. Because I swapped shifts yesterday, I have the afternoon off, so I’ll be here when you’re out of school.”

Peter takes a moment, reeling. He checks his phone and March 22 has never brought him so much joy before. He’s moving forward, and the weight of possibilities doesn’t intimidate him, but excite him. He’s ready for each new day.

“Yeah, later. I’ll tell you everything.”

May smiles.

“But, I have to make a stop after school. Two stops actually.”

He’s going to tell Ben and he’s going to see Harry like he promised.

The loop has broken, he’s set free.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written two years ago, and the title refers to the philosophy of time in Ancient Greek where the moment is opportune and critical.


End file.
